


If You Never Bleed, You’re Never Gonna Grow

by cnroth



Series: Cardigan [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Break Up, Episode: s02e19 Lifesigns, F/M, Parent Death, Pre-Canon, borrows some ideas from Mosaic, but also contradicts it, cuz cherry picking is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cnroth/pseuds/cnroth
Summary: Memory is a funny thing.After a conversation with The Doctor about first loves, Tom can’t shake the memory of his own first love and the sordid path that led to her. Years have passed since she broke his heart, yet the feelings are just as raw now as they were back then—especially the guilt.
Relationships: Tom Paris/Clemencia Hayes, Tom Paris/Phoebe Janeway, Tom Paris/Susie Crabtree
Series: Cardigan [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932271
Comments: 10
Kudos: 7





	If You Never Bleed, You’re Never Gonna Grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Curator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/gifts).



> _”If you want to know the honest truth, Doc, you never completely get over a woman you really cared about.”_
> 
> —Tom Paris, “Lifesigns”
> 
> _”I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss. I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs. The smell of smoke would hang around this long, cuz I knew everything when I was young.”_
> 
> —Taylor Swift, “Cardigan”

_Susie Crabtree._

The name puts a special ache in my chest as the doors close behind me, leaving me alone in my quarters. “Lights,” I say, and the whole place brightens. 

My feet carry me to the closet where I stoop down and retrieve the black duffel bag I brought to _Voyager_ when I first came aboard. Thinking of her has me feeling nostalgic for a younger version of myself—a kid who believed that wanting was enough to keep love alive.

Taking the bag to my bed, I sit and unpack the few things I’ve held onto over the years in spite of… well, everything.

The first medal I ever won for shuttlepod racing.

A bar napkin with a comm frequency written on it.

A printed picture of two families, torn in half and taped back together. 

My hands halt on the photo. In the middle of the Paris and Hayes families stands Clemencia and me, our hands clasped tight. Just looking at the image, I can almost feel the vest of that ridiculous three-piece suit constricting my midsection. I think I made it about halfway through the night before I unbuttoned that vest, ripped off the tie, and loosened my collar. 

God, I hate suits.

Clem, on the other hand… well, she was a natural. The way she walked around in that gold sequin dress and heels, her dark brown hair swept into a braided updo and makeup done to perfection, you’d think she rolled out of bed looking that glamorous. 

I knew better, of course. Not because we’d ever shared a bed, but because she had been my friend for as long as I could remember and I‘d seen her in just about every possible setting and mood. When the photo was taken, she was also my girlfriend—much to my father’s delight.

Until I cheated on her.

That is, if you can even call it cheating. At the First Contact Day party where the picture was taken, she rejected my attempts to show her affection. Then she practically had hearts in her eyes while she danced with another guy. It seemed pretty obvious that she wasn’t interested in anything but the status that came with having a Paris on her arm.

I snort and shake my head. Even when I’m talking to myself, I make excuses. Of course it was cheating. I knew it then, and I know it now. 

While I can’t entirely bring myself to regret getting close to Phoebe, I do regret doing it behind Clem’s back when I was supposed to be her partner. I should have at least had the decency to end it with her before sleeping with someone else.

When my secret came out, I didn’t just lose a girlfriend. I lost a true friend, and for that I’ll probably hate myself for the rest of my life.

It’s just another item on the long list of ways that I’m a complete fuck-up.

* * *

I had bet on Clem not wanting to make a scene in public. That’s why, after she dumped me in a text message and ignored all my comms, I went to the back-to-school party at her house. The door was open, so I let myself in, tapped on her shoulder, and asked if we could talk.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake.

Her glossy hair was pinned up in a flawless bun, not one strand out of place. Makeup brought out her deep brown eyes, strong cheekbones, and sharp lips without going overboard. The flowy emerald green blouse and crisp white pants she wore to sport our school’s colors were dressy, but still casual enough not to raise any eyebrows. That’s who she was—carefully, thoughtfully put together everywhere she went.

As she stood there taking me in, those manicured fingernails were probably digging into her palms given how tightly she was clenching her fists. Her eyes glistened, and for a second I thought she was gonna cry.

She closed her eyes.

Took two deep breaths.

Opened her eyes.

And it wasn’t sadness I saw in them. It was fury.

“Let’s go outside,” she said in a voice that was almost calm but trembled with rage. 

I followed her onto the front porch of her house, which I assumed she chose because the back porch was open for party guests. Shutting the door behind us, she crossed her arms and gave me a look that said, _All right, asshole, get on with it._

“Look,” I began, “I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for what I did. I could make a bunch of excuses, but that won’t make it okay. I fucked up.”

The image of her dancing with that cadet on First Contact Day replayed in my mind, but I ignored it. Bringing that up would only make it harder to save our relationship.

“It wasn’t anything you did,” I said. “This is all on me. Can you forgive me?”

“ _Forgive_ you? Are you kidding me, Tom?”

“I know you’re mad, but—“

_“YOU’RE FUCKING PHOEBE JANEWAY!”_

Her arms went wide as she yelled this, and I reached out to calm her down. “Shh! Not so loud!”

She recoiled. “Why? Cuz you’re scared someone will hear and your parents will find out? Or her parents?”

“Actually, yes.”

She lifted her chin. “Too late, Tommy. You know as well as I do how much of a gossip Inez is and how fast word spreads. It’s only a matter of time before the adults find out. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck. You both deserve it.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“You know, it was bad enough finding out you cheated on me, but…” Her hands balled into fists. “The thing that really gets me is that I had to hear it from fucking _Inez Santos_ when you should have told me yourself. That was icing on the damn cake.”

“Yeah, that was bad.” 

She scoffed. “You think?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Listen, Clem, I just…” I chewed on my lip. In my entire life, I’d never seen her get _this_ angry. What was I supposed to say next?

She raised her eyebrows. “What? Speak, Tom, or get off my porch.”

“It’s over,” I said quietly. “With Phoebe, I mean. I ended it. We’re not seeing each other any more.”

Clem’s arms crossed again. “You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth. It isn’t exactly something we can be open about, so what’s the point?”

Her expression was skeptical as she stared at me for a painfully long moment. Finally, she let her arms drop. “Well I hope you don’t expect me to take you back.”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. The only reason I'd asked Clem out in the first place was because my father pushed me to do it. We were such good friends, he’d pointed out. We’d go well together—whatever the hell that meant. 

I cared about her. Really, I did. As for any romantic or sexual feelings I had for her… well, that was a little more confusing. One thing I knew for sure, though, was that I didn’t want to lose her.

I looked at my shoes. “I know that’s probably not gonna happen. How could you ever trust me again? But...” I found her eyes. “I hope we can still be friends.”

This made her laugh in a way that put a chill in my bones. “ _Friends_? Do you really think we can be friends after what you did?”

“Well, I—”

“Go fuck yourself, Tom.” With that, she stormed inside and shut the door firmly behind her.

* * *

It was a year before I saw Phoebe again.

I was a week into my first year at the academy, having dinner with some friends at this great burger joint in Inner Richmond. I’d just walked out of the bathroom and was on my way back to the table when I heard her voice behind me. 

“Tom?”

I turned around and there she was, sitting at the bar with her friend Amy. My heart jumped into my throat, and for a second I was afraid Inez might be there, too, but then I remembered that they stopped being friends after Inez told the school about our affair. 

“Phe!” I said, then cleared my throat and smiled. “Hey! How’s it going?”

“Pretty good.” She set down her drink. “Just started my second semester at NYU.”

I perched on the stool beside her. “Really? That’s great! I always knew you’d get in.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Ha, well, it wasn’t my first choice. Plus, it took a semester for me to get a spot there. But it’s a great program, and the city is incredible.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“How about you?”

My gaze drifted towards the table where my friends were, though there was a partial wall between us, so I couldn’t actually see them. “Well, I’m out of uniform right now,” I said, finding Phoebe’s eyes again, “but I just started at the academy.”

Her smile saddened. “How is it?”

I pushed my shoulders back and made my best attempt at a cool, easygoing tone. “So far, so good. I’ll be trying out for a spot on one of the flight teams in a couple weeks.”

“That’s great, Tom.” Her hand rested on mine. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy for you. Listen—” She reached past me to grab a napkin from the dispenser and asked the bartender for a pen. “I’m sure you want to get back to your friends, but let’s catch up sometime, okay? We didn’t… end things very well, but I’d really like to change that. Is that alright?”

Her question took me a little by surprise, but it lifted a weight from my chest that I’d forgotten I was carrying. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

* * *

Somehow, the napkin still looks as crisp and clean as it was the day Phoebe gave it to me. Just from holding it, I can practically smell the beer and burgers in the air. What I didn’t realize that night was just how much this napkin and the comm frequency written on it would change my life.

Whether that change was for better or worse, I still can’t decide.

Laying the napkin on the bed with the medal and photo, I take a cardboard envelope from the bottom of the bag and open the flap. Inside is a small collection of drawings Phoebe gave to me. Carefully, I slip my fingers inside and take the papers out.

A Federation Navy aircraft carrier in drydock. The tumbling waves of San Francisco Bay. Leaves changing colors at Washington Square Park. Vines spilling over the High Line railing.

Me laying in her bed in Brittany Hall.

In the drawing, I’m on my side and sporting an awful case of bedhead. I’ve got my temple propped on the knuckles of one hand and my elbow anchored in the pillow. The drawing is a memento of the painting she made of me for one of her classes. At the time, she said it was one of the best pieces she’d ever done.

I wonder if she still has that painting.

I wonder if she stayed in New York.

I wonder a lot of things that I will likely always keep to myself because I still, to this day, can’t tell anyone her real name.

* * *

“Are you done now?” I asked, half teasing and half annoyed at Phoebe’s need to have her holocamera’s settings _just so_ before taking my picture. Morning light streamed in through the window, coloring half of her sleep shirt orange and making the red in her dark, curly hair stand out.

She rolled her eyes and set her camera on the desk. “Yes, I’m done.”

As soon as she was in arm’s reach, I grabbed her wrist and dragged her back into bed. She squealed as she collapsed on top of me, but I flipped her over and cut off her giggling with a long, hungry kiss. I shifted aside the blanket that had been covering me and ground against her. My blood instantly redirected downward.

Her laughter turned to moans, tongue advancing and retreating, hands curling around my ass, and hips moving in tandem with mine. “Tom,” she panted when I moved to kiss her neck.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. I just—”

I sucked the skin over her pulse point, making her gasp.

“I‘m glad we found each other again.”

I hovered on my elbows, drinking in the sight of flushed cheeks, grey eyes, and that long, beautiful auburn hair all spread out beneath her head. “Yeah, me too.”

A shy smile tugged at her swollen lips, then spread into a sultry grin. “Well, you’d better earn your keep, Cadet. I didn’t bring you here for nothing.” 

I chuckled, kissed her collarbone, and slipped a hand between her thighs. “If there’s something you want, m’lady, just say the word.” I teased her with my fingers. “I’m here to serve.”

She pushed my hips back and wrapped her legs loosely around my waist. “Then serve your queen.”

“Yes, your majesty,” I said, and when I slid inside her body, neither of us kept quiet. There was no need for that anymore. Her roommate was gone, and the only neighbors we had were other students who made plenty of their own noise.

So on that lazy Saturday morning, we kissed and fucked and made as much ruckus as we wanted.

We held each other for a long time after we were done. Unlike our short-lived summer fling back in high school, we could actually take our time and enjoy each other’s company. It was nice. More than nice.

It was incredible.

“Do you need to comm your parents?” she asked as the chronometer hit ten. 

“No. I told Mom I was gonna be out of town with my roommate visiting his girlfriend and her roommate in Jersey.”

“Ah, I see.” Her fingers swirled absently on my chest. “And what’s his girlfriend’s roommate’s name?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Why?”

“I just wanna know what my alias is.”

“Your alias?”

“You know your nosy-ass parents are gonna want to know who you’re spending time with.” She took on an absurdly-feminine tone. _“‘Why don’t you come home for dinner on Saturday, Thomas?’”_ Then she switched to a poor imitation of me. _“‘I can’t, Mom. I’m in New Jersey.’ ‘Again? Who is this young lady you’re spending every weekend with?’”_

I snorted. “ _Every_ weekend?”

Phoebe arched an eyebrow. “Don’t kid yourself, Tom. I’ll whistle—” She slid her hand down and tickled my thigh— “and you’ll come running.”

The sensation made my muscles twitch and my lungs suck in a breath. I pulled her mouth to mine, licking inside until she was humming along to the rhythm of the kiss. 

“Whenever you want, your majesty,” I murmured when our lips finally parted. “I’m all yours.”

She gave me one last peck and laid back. “That’s what I like to hear. So, back to the topic at hand. What is my alias going to be?”

I propped myself on an elbow. “How about… Susie Crabtree?”

“Oh my God.” She laughed and shoved me back. “Get the fuck out, Paris. You’re done. That’s a terrible name.”

“Is that so?” I asked, recovering my balance and straddling her legs. Peeling away her sleep shirt, I kissed my way down her body until I reached the tops of her thighs. 

Her breathing was getting heavy again.

Gently, I spread her legs apart and settled between them, then pressed a kiss to her thigh. “Do you really want me to leave?”

Her voice trembled when she replied, “Don’t you dare.”

* * *

The drawings shake in my hands. I lay them in my lap, the one of me in her bed still on top. I was so happy that morning and the three months that followed. 

Any spare time I had, I spent in New York. Phoebe had been right—it was an amazing city. I experienced the seasons change for the first time in my life. We walked through Washington Square Park hand-in-hand as the colors went from green to gold, orange, and red. 

She showed me around West Village with its centuries-old brownstone buildings, peaceful streets, and unique restaurants and shops. We took a stroll down the High Line, and I could hardly believe my eyes at the combination of industrial-era transportation, twenty-first century art, and countless types of flora. We saw a show on Broadway, took a ferry to Long Island, and went ice skating at Rockefeller Center. I got to know her roommate and friends over microbrews and pizza. Phoebe especially loved SoHo and Chelsea for the galleries, and we both enjoyed eating at Chelsea Market.

But my favorite times were the quiet moments alone with her, window flung wide open to the autumn air, making love or talking or watching her create. She drew me pictures, painted that photo of me in her bed and jokingly called it _Pilot in Repose_ , and inked tiny stars around the freckles on my arms. Because of her, I fell in love with New York.

I fell in love with her, too, faster than I ever thought was possible.

Looking back now, it hurts in a way that makes me itch for an entire case of wine. What the hell am I doing to myself by going through all this shit I hang onto for… what? To torture myself? Rip open old wounds? Dig up the grave another time?

And why did I have to mention Phoebe to The Doctor when he was already miserable? Worse—I went on that stupid rant about how _“a certain smell, a few notes of a song, and suddenly you feel just as bad as the day she told you she never wanted to see you again.”_ What was that?

I could have played it cool, could have kept the focus on him, but no. I had to fucking go and say that. I had to make it about me, like I always do.

Like I did with Phoebe.

God, I’m such a loser. 

At least it’ll fit into the cynical, miserable image the captain and Tuvok have me making for myself to fool the crew and flush out a spy. I just wish I‘d meant it that way—part of the ruse, a strategic choice for a secret mission. Not a moment of actual, horrible honesty in the middle of a giant lie.

Sometimes, it’s hard trying to figure out where the lie ends and the real me begins.

My fingers stroke the drawing paper like they have a mind of their own, almost as if they could reach through and touch a past that has come and gone. I wish I could go back to that day and just stay there, never ending up in a future that I, in classic Tom Paris style, tore apart with my own hands.

Because for just a little while, I had everything I never knew I wanted.

* * *

A week and a half before Thanksgiving, I got a text message from Phoebe.

_Dad just died. Kathryn might die, too._

I was in my second class on a Monday morning when it came, and it took everything in me not to walk out right then. With another professor, I might have, but Dr. Lozar’s exact words at the beginning of the semester were, _“Unless you have a stroke in the middle of class, you will stay in your seats until I dismiss you.”_ Still, this almost made me risk his wrath.

The second I was free, I rushed back to my room and commed her. No response. I sent her a text message asking what I could do. No response.

My heart was in my throat for the rest of the day. Finally, while I was eating dinner, a message came through.

_At home now. Can I comm you in an hour?_

_Yeah, of course._

I wanted to ask about Kathryn, but I’d find out soon enough. 

I wanted to say, _I love you,_ but it would be more a statement of sympathy than a declaration of commitment. I hadn’t completely sorted out my feelings for Phoebe yet or what I wanted for our future, and this wasn’t the time to start. 

Instead, I turned my padd face-down, finished dinner, and hurried back to my room to wait for her comm.

It came nearly twenty minutes late.

Her face was blotchy, eyes red, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. “Tom.”

“Phe.” God, I wanted to reach through the screen and hold her. Just seeing her like this made me hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away, but they just kept coming.

“How’s Kathryn?”

“She’s okay. Stable. They said she should be out of the hospital by Friday.”

“That’s good.” 

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I wanted to kick myself. What a stupid fucking thing to say. _“Good”_ would be her sister recovering from a cold, not clawing her way back to life after nearly dying. _“Good”_ would be their father at home in bed instead of lying in a morgue.

“What…” I hesitated, not sure if my question was insensitive, but I asked anyway because I wanted to know. “What happened?”

“They were testing a shuttle—Dad, Kathryn, and Justin. It crashed. Kathryn was thrown from the shuttle. She was the only one the rescue ship found. Dad…” Phoebe sobbed, and it took a second to catch her breath. “They had to request a salvage job to… cuz he’s still… they’re still…” She put her head in her hands and wept. 

_Still in the shuttle._ She didn’t have to say it. For some reason, their bodies couldn’t be beamed out, which meant the only way to get them was to dig them out of the wreckage.

Justin—he was Kathryn’s fiancée. I had honestly forgotten the man’s name. He’d only come up in conversation with Phoebe once—last month when he and Kathryn got engaged. Phoebe hated him.

But Phoebe hated a lot of people. 

A shuttle accident. It sent a shiver down my spine. How had it happened? Was it a pilot error or a fault of engineering? Even with the best pilots, test flights could be risky.

Someday, that might be my job.

On the screen, Phoebe hiccuped and blew her nose. 

Right. Focus.

I had so many questions. How was her mom doing? What came next? Was Phoebe going to finish her semester? When could I see her again? What was I supposed to say to make her feel better?

“I, uh…” I ran my hands over my face and sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Phe. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

She sniffed, gave both eyes a definitive wipe, and straightened her posture. “Actually, yes. I want… to tell Mom about us.”

For a couple seconds, the words didn’t compute. “Wait, what?”

She leaned closer to the screen. “I _need_ you, Tom. You can’t help me while we’re sneaking around pretending I’m single and you’re casually getting to know some Susie Crabtree in New Jersey.”

“But…” I struggled to come up with a reply. Her sudden change of heart left me reeling and sick to my stomach. “I thought you didn’t want them to know.” I smacked my head. “ _Shit!_ Sorry. I mean _her._ I thought you didn’t want _her_ to know.” Fuck, this was coming out wrong. 

“I don’t care!” Phoebe burst out. “Besides, for once Mom’s more worried about Kathryn than me, so maybe it’ll be fine. I didn’t want to go public this soon, either, but I just… I can’t…” She drew in a shaky breath. “I need to be able to have you around without sneaking away all the time, making shitty excuses, and creating a whole fucking scandal because I can’t think straight.”

“And admitting we’re together _won’t_ create a scandal? I don’t know about your family, but for mine this will still be a scandal no matter what.”

“Okay, but they won’t say anything about it.”

“Oh, believe me, they’ll have something to say. They just won’t say it to you.”

She crossed her arms. “And that’s what matters, isn’t it? What _your_ parents say to _you_.”

Her words landed so forcefully they made my body recoil. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes it is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be fighting me on this.”

“Phe—”

“You asked if there was something you could do, and I told you. Now are you going to support me or not?”

“It’s not that simple, Phe.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

I ran my hands over my face. “Can I just… take some time to think about this? It’s a lot to absorb.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh _boo-hoo,_ poor Tom. You’re right. How on Earth could I be so insensitive to your problems? I’ll just put my grief on hold while you decide if you have the spine to stand up to your goddamn father or not.”

White-hot anger exploded in my chest. “Hey! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

She scoffed. “No, it’s you who doesn’t have a clue. Goodbye, Tom.”

The screen went black.

Launching to my feet, I whipped my computer across the room so hard it put a dent in the wall. _“FUCK!”_

Then I sank to my knees and cried.

* * *

A week after Thanksgiving, Starfleet held a formal service for Admiral Janeway. This time when I put on my suit, I didn’t complain, and when my father spotted a scuff on one of my shoes, I wasn’t even the slightest bit irritated with him.

All that existed inside of me was shame.

I’d sent Phoebe three messages over the past nineteen days— _I’m sorry_ two days after our conversation, _Happy Thanksgiving_ for the holiday, and _I miss you_ five days later. She hadn’t replied to any of them.

During the service, Gretchen Janeway looked resolute, Kathryn looked vacant, and Phoebe looked like she was going to war. Gretchen and Phoebe both spoke, along with my father and a few others, but Kathryn stayed in her seat. Part of me was waiting for her to collapse under her own weight.

My father offered condolences to the Janeways for all of us, but no one stuck around after we were dismissed. I didn’t even get a chance to make eye contact with my girlfriend.

If she _was_ still my girlfriend.

As soon as I got back to my dorm, I grabbed my padd and typed out a message to Phoebe saying how sorry I was, how badly I wanted to see her, and that if she still wanted to tell our families about us, I’d do it. My thumb hovered over the send button.

Frozen.

I set the padd on my desk. The message glared up at me in stark, white letters. It was the right thing to do. If looks were any indication, she needed a friend, and that friend was supposed to be me.

But all I could think of was what my father’s reaction would be if our secret came out.

_Someone who is willing to be a party to unfaithfulness does not have what it takes for a stable, committed relationship. That young woman is not a suitable partner, Thomas, and I won’t have you taking up with her again. You will end this dalliance now. That’s an order._

Imaginary-me screamed back, _It isn’t a dalliance, Dad. I love her!_

Imaginary-Dad laughed cynically. _You don’t know what love is._

He was probably right about that.

I put my head in my hands. What the fuck was I supposed to do? If I didn’t agree to be there for Phoebe the way she wanted me to, she might leave me. But if I did agree, my father would force me to break up with her.

It was a lose-lose situation.

_“I’ll just put my grief on hold while you decide if you have the spine to stand up to your goddamn father or not,”_ Phoebe had said.

If only it was that simple.

With a heavy sigh, I grabbed the padd, deleted the sentence about telling our families, and sent the message.

Ten minutes later, she commed.

I hit _open channel_ so fast and so hard that, for a second, I thought I could have broken it. “Phe!” I gasped out, relief coursing through me. Her cheeks were gaunt and she looked angry as hell, but at least she was there. “Oh wow, am I happy you—”

“It’s over, Tom.”

The room blurred, little electric shocks tingling in my fingers and toes. The colors became too much. I floated out of my body and everything seemed unreal. 

What had she just said?

Distantly, I was aware that my mouth was open, lips and tongue forming her name, tone lifting at the end like a question, but it didn’t feel like I was the person saying it.

“I just commed to tell you to stop messaging me. Obviously, you don’t have the guts to stand up to your father, and I’m not about to waste my time trying to fill your needs and ignore my own. We’re done. I never, ever want to see you again.”

When the screen went black, the fraying connection I had to my body snapped, and I stopped existing at all.

* * *

My face is wet.

Shit. I’m crying.

God, I’m such a weakling.

Dragging my eyes from the drawings in my lap, I swipe a sleeve across my face to mop up the tears I hadn’t even realized were forming. With a shake of my head, I lay back on my bed and close my eyes.

This is ridiculous.

Before I can think too much about it, I take the drawings to the replicator and set them on the pad. “Computer,” I say, but my tongue sticks in my mouth.

After a few seconds, the computer asks me to restate my command.

Except I didn’t give one.

I can’t.

I can’t do it.

I pull the papers off the pad. “One 324 x 458 envelope and a pen.” When the items appear, I sit at the table and scribble out a quick note on the front of the envelope. 

Crossing back to the pile of keepsakes, I put the drawing of me in its protective shell, stuff it into the duffle bag along with the photo and medal, and shove the whole thing back in my closet. 

The napkin goes to the replicator, and this time I don’t hesitate in saying, “Recycle.”

Finally, I slide the rest of the drawings into the new envelope and close the seal. Anytime now, I’ll be leaving _Voyager_ for that secret mission the captain and Tuvok have me preparing for, and although I plan on coming back alive, there’s a chance I won’t. 

Besides, this is something I should have done months ago.

I take one last moment to glance over the note, then set the envelope on the shelf by my bed.

_For Captain Janeway’s eyes only._

_She’d want you to have these. I hope they give you a taste of home._

_-Tom_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Curator for the idea that Phoebe was both Tom’s first lay and first love. This series wouldn’t exist without you.


End file.
